


From Simple Things the Best Things Begin

by mcgarrygirl78



Series: Something More [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t raise your eyebrow at me, Aaron Hotchner.  Everything that happens tonight will be for your own good.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Simple Things the Best Things Begin

**Author's Note:**

> I’m having a good time exploring a blossoming friendship that could become more with these two. Season 5 and all its angst had to be worth something for me. I'm going to call this series _Something More_. So, this is **#1** in the **Something More** series. I've talked about a Hotch/Prentiss in other stories, that follow the lines of _100_ but this story marks the beginning of a series of connected stories.

Emily put the bag on the floor outside the front door before digging her key out of her jeans pocket. She walked quickly into the apartment, closed the door, and deactivated the alarm. There was a small bulb on above the stove but it didn’t provide much light. She turned on the living room lamp and wasn’t surprised to see how neat everything was. Jack’s toys were all over the dining room table but other than that there wasn’t even a pillow out of place.

Poking her head into his bedroom, Emily smiled. It was not enjoyable to see him curled up in a ball sound asleep but surely a miracle to see him at rest. She went into the room, sat down on the bed, and gently shook his shoulder.

“Hotch? Hey, wake up.”

He stirred some but didn’t respond. Emily shook again and this time he turned. When he opened his eyes, they were blurry. His breath smelled but surely Prentiss had faced worse.

“Prentiss?” Hotch’s voice was raspy. “Hey.”

“Hi there. I need you to try and sit up for me.”

“I'm OK.” Hotch replied.

“Not exactly but you'll get there.” Emily propped up the pillows, helping him to sit up. “How long have you been wearing these pajamas?”

“I'm not entirely sure. Oh God, do I smell?”

“Oh please, don’t worry about it. Let me check your head.” She put the back of her hand on his forehead. Still unable to tell, Emily placed her lips there. “You’ve got a little fever; it’s not breaking. I brought you some Gatorade.”

“I don’t like Gatorade.” Hotch mumbled.

“You're drinking this,” Emily opened the top. “It’s cherry-flavored and we’re not gonna fight. How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think. I've been asleep for about three days.”

“That’s a good thing. Here,” she put the bottle in his hand. “Drink this and imagine its something you really love. Is Jack with Jessie?”

“Yeah. He felt much better after passing the plague on to me. She knew I needed the rest.”

“You do.” Emily replied, nodding. “I'm going to get you something to eat.”

Hotch didn’t think he could eat anything and told her so. Still, his stomach was growling so that was a good sign.

“Let’s see if you can try. I brought homemade chicken noodle soup. We’ll take care of you and I think tomorrow you’ll be feeling much better.”

“You made me soup?” Hotch asked.

“No way,” Emily replied laughing. “I've been in Knoxville for the past four days, remember? Nat made it.”

“Your stepmother made me homemade chicken noodle soup?”

“Yes; drink that Gatorade. I told her you had the plague and she offered.” She stood from the bed. “When I get back I want at least one-half of that Gatorade gone. You surely haven’t had enough fluids. That’s going to prevent dehydration and give you back some of the electrolytes you need.”

Hotch nodded and even though he made a funny face, he started drinking the Gatorade. It wasn’t so bad…he’d drank worse over time.

“Good boy,” Emily couldn’t help but grin when she said it.

“I think you're enjoying this too much, Agent Prentiss.” Hotch mumbled, coughing.

“Nonsense. Relax; I’ll be back with some food. And don’t stop drinking that Gatorade.”

Hotch saluted as his dimples poked into his cheeks. He lay against the pillows, taking big gulps of the liquid. Emily went back to the kitchen and pulled the crock pot from the bag on the counter. After plugging it in, she checked the refrigerator. Hotch was much better at having food in the house since he became a single father. The cupboards looked good too so he would surely make it through next week.

In the bread basket, Emily found a loaf of pumpernickel bread. She grabbed a piece to go with the soup. It only went through her mind for a split second that Emily knew Hotch’s kitchen better than her own. That wasn’t just because it was smaller with fewer accessories. She’d been there so many times, before Haley was killed and after.

She wasn’t sure when the tide of their relationship turned. After Hotch was attacked by The Reaper, it was Prentiss who made him almost comfortable again in his home. When his protection detail was pulled, it was Prentiss, and the whole team really, who rallied at his side. And when his world seemed to be falling apart, Prentiss was there with a movie or a board game or quiet conversation about things that would slow down the demons screaming between his ears. Hotch barely thought about it when he gave her the key after the team returned from Nashville.

It was a precaution he said, though he never explained what that meant. Emily didn’t ask. She just slipped it into her pocket, nodded, and nothing else was said about it. Now she put the teakettle on to boil, grabbed the tray from under the cabinet, and took bowls and plates from the cupboard. After the soup warmed and the kettle boiled, Emily went back into the bedroom. Hotch managed a smile as he held up the bottle of Gatorade.

“I'm three-quarters done.” He announced when she put the tray down.

“Did you really drink that?” Emily sat on the bed.

“Scout’s honor. Mmm, this soup smells amazing. I was thinking of sending Natalie a thank you card but the way this smells…I may have to sell myself into indentured servitude for a week or so.”

“Taste it.”

He ate a spoonful of soup, smiling ear to ear.

“Oh my God, this is amazing. This is really, really good.”

“Well, even Superman needs chicken noodle soup occasionally.” Emily replied.

“I'm not Superman.” Hotch’s voice was quiet but firm.

He used to deal with that superhero comparison, whether he liked it or not. Surely his team meant no harm by it…they loved Hotch. Ever since George Foyet, he just didn’t want to hear it. He was no hero; he was just an ordinary man. He tried, he pushed, he succeeded, and he ultimately failed. No matter what anyone said, Hotch knew it would be a long time before he could ever believe anything but that. It might be forever.

“Maybe not, but I have to say you would probably be pretty tasty in a pair of red and blue tights.”

Hotch laughed. Then he sputtered a bit and started to cough. Emily reached out to rub his back.

“Oh Hotch, I'm sorry. I was just being silly; I wasn’t thinking.”

“Its alright.” He picked up the tumbler of water from the tray and sipped it. “I've been alone for four days; I haven’t exactly had much opportunity to enjoy laughter.”

“I know but no one wants it with a side order of Heimlich.” She replied.

“No, but sometimes I take it as it comes. This soup is truly delicious.”

“Take your time; eat as much as you can. There's no point in pushing because Nat made plenty.”

“I really want to get out of this bed now.” Hotch muttered. He hated being trapped. He was off from work and couldn’t even have some fun with Jack. His son was gone and he was stuck in bed.

“We’ll get you out of bed, I promise.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t raise your eyebrow at me, Aaron Hotchner. Everything that happens tonight will be for your own good.”

“I don’t know whether to be excited or frightened.” He replied.

“You'll know in a little while. Do you want some of this bread?”

“No thank you,” Hotch shook his head.

“Alright,” Emily finished all of her soup. “Drink a little tea and finish your Gatorade. I'm not being too bossy, am I?”

Hotch surely wouldn’t admit how much he liked it. It felt good to know that someone cared enough to do all of this. Emily didn’t even mind sitting too close. After four days he probably wasn’t contagious anymore but still, it meant a lot to him. He wished he could say so but something stopped him.

“I don't know; give me a little time to think about it.” Hotch replied.

“No,” Emily grinned. She put his tea on the nightstand and stood with the tray. “I’ll be right back.”

“OK,”

Hotch relaxed against the pillows as Prentiss left the room. He could breathe a little better through his nose, which was a good sign. He was nowhere close to full capacity but three days ago his sinuses were completely closed. Even though he didn’t want to, Hotch drank the rest of the Gatorade. It was for his own good as he was surely at least slightly dehydrated. Maybe Prentiss would bring some more if he asked nicely.

“Bath time,” Emily nearly sang it as she came back into the bedroom.

“You're not allowed anywhere near me with a sponge unless you're putting on a Swedish nurse outfit.”

She burst into laughter. It was that rare, to him anyway, full-on, graceless, Emily Katherine Prentiss laughter. There was something so full of life about it. Women who laughed like that hadn’t seen the things that she’d seen. Hotch wondered how she still laughed like that. He wondered how he could touch that laughter, connect to it, and spend some time with it.

“That’s payback for the blue and red tights.” He replied with a straight face.

“So noted.” Emily stifled her giggles. “Do you need help getting up?”

“No, I think I got it.” Hotch knew it would take a little extra time but planned to do it on his own.

“OK. Where do you keep your sheets?” Emily asked. She left him on his own…didn’t want to coddle or push too hard. Hotch was not helpless, he was just ill. She would look after him, had gotten used to it actually, but she wouldn’t go overboard.

“Bed sheets?”

“Uh huh,”

“They're in that closet on the second shelf. Why?”

“I'm going to spruce up a little.” She said.

“Prentiss…”

“Don’t even bother. You cannot feel better lying on the same sick sheets and breathing the same sick air. If you could do it yourself I know that you would. Please just let me do this for you, OK?”

“Yeah,” Hotch sounded resigned. At least he was out of bed and halfway to the bathroom. “I think I need this shower.”

“I know you do, so enjoy it.”

“I will do that as much as I can for a guy who can only breathe out of one nostril and surely shouldn’t stand for long periods of time.” He replied.

“Good. Holler if you need anything.”

***

He couldn’t believe everything she’d done. While Hotch was in the shower, Emily gathered all his clothes and put them in the washer. She changed his sheets, disinfected his pillows, and cracked the window to air out the room. She rinsed the dishes in the sink, loaded the dishwasher, and wiped down the counters with bleach wipes. She left new sweats and a tee shirt in the bathroom for Hotch to dress in after his shower, taking his three day old pajamas to the washer.

Emily even put the Vicks Vap-O-Rub on top of the toilet tank. So he wouldn’t catch a new chill while the bedroom was airing out, Emily grabbed his blanket. The two of them relaxed on his semi-comfortable couch. Emily turned on the television.

“Thank you so much.” He said, wrapping himself in the blanket and deeply inhaling the Vap-O-Rub.

“You don’t have to do that…that’s what friends are for. You know that.” Emily smiled and wrapped the blanket around his feet.

“Tell me about Knoxville.” Hotch said.

“Yeah right. How about a little Barbra Streisand instead?”

Hotch looked at her intently and then raised an eyebrow.

“I'm almost afraid to ask…”

“ _The Mirror has Two Faces_.” Emily held up the DVD. “Have you ever seen it?”

“No.”

“Oh, you're really in for a treat then.” Her grin made her whole face glow.

“Well I'm trapped; I may as well make the most of it.”

“That’s the spirit, Hotch.” She patted his leg as she got up from the couch. “I love your optimism. Do you want me to heat up some more tea for you?”

“Yes, thanks. Prentiss, just tell me this isn’t a musical.”

“I thought you liked musicals.”

“Prentiss…”

“It’s not a musical. Don’t look at me that way; I'm telling the truth. I’ll get the tea and you watch the FBI warning.”

“Then we’ll talk about Knoxville.”

“Then we’ll watch two Ivy League professors fall in love. There will be absolutely, positively no discussion of the BAU. I mean it, Aaron.”

He turned toward the TV, unsuccessful in hiding his dimples. What was it about the way she said his first name that made him smile that way. Damn, maybe it wasn’t just two Ivy League professors falling in love. Hotch couldn’t even believe that something like that entered his mind. He consoled himself knowing it wasn’t the first time. It was the first time he didn’t try to talk himself out of it, however.

OK, maybe it was the third or fourth time. He didn’t feel well; it probably wasn’t the best time for this train of thought. She was there and that was enough for tonight. They would curl up with hot tea and Barbra Streisand…Hotch had a feeling that would be more stimulating than it sounded. No, it sounded quite stimulating. Being with Emily Prentiss always was.

***


End file.
